


Fire Burning

by static_abyss



Category: Girls Like Girls - Hayley Kiyoko (Music Video), Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Minor Injuries, Underage Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 17:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5100263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friendship is the way Cosette's her heart beats too loud in her chest, because Éponine smells like cigarettes and lavender lotion. Or when Éponine dances in the center of Montparnasse's living room, her arms up in the air, and her smile wicked when she turns to Cosette.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire Burning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [soprano_squad](https://archiveofourown.org/users/soprano_squad/gifts).



> I had never seen the Girls Like Girls music video, but once I did, I couldn't get it out of my head. So thank you very much to soprano_squad for introducing me to that, and I hope you have a happy halloween :D

Friendship is the way the dark strands of Éponine's hair shine in dark red hues in the sunlight. It's the way her hand feels, a little larger than Cosette's, her fingers longer, rough with callouses from riding Montparnasse's motorcycle, but also from scrubbing the floor of her apartment. Cosette calls it friendship when her heart beats too loud in her chest because Éponine smells like cigarettes and lavender lotion. Or when Éponine dances in the center of Montparnasse's living room, her arms up in the air, and her smile wicked when she turns to Cosette. 

  


* * *

  
Love is the way Cosette appreciates Marius's hair and the elegant slope of his nose. They sit together in the shade of the oak tree outside of the school, and Marius asks her out, his cheeks the color of Éponine's favorite lipgloss. Cosette says yes, and love is the warmth of Marius's hand in hers, the unfamiliarity of his smooth palm, how his hand is too big for Cosette's. Love is the way Cosette kisses his cheek, always turning away before Marius can kiss her back.

Love is Éponine holding on tight to Montparnasse's waist as he pulls up on his motorcycle. It's the way Montparnasse's hands wander down Éponine's back, into her hair, the way she folds into him. Éponine kisses him in front of the high school doors, presses him into the lockers in the hallways.

"I let him touch me," Éponine whispers into the shell of Cosette's ear during lunch. 

"Does it feel good?" Cosette asks, hours later, when they're lying across Éponine's bed. 

The fading sunlight streams in through Éponine's blinds, warming Cosette's face. She closes her eyes against the brightness, and pretends she can't imagine Éponine's face when Montparnasse touches her. 

The bed dips, sheets rustling as Éponine rolls over. Her warm breath hits the side of Cosette's face, and the shiver that runs up Cosette's spine is another form of friendship.

"It does," Éponine whispers.

Then she laughs, and Cosette opens her eyes to watch the way Éponine's brown eyes shine with amusement. Her lips are bright with cherry lipgloss, and her t-shirt is tight across her chest. She turns to lie flat on her back, and Cosette moves onto her elbows. She likes Éponine's black jeans.

"Come on," Éponine says, sitting up suddenly. "I have cigarettes."

Cosette gets up too, slower, so that her dress doesn't ride up. She shakes out her skirt, and tosses her not-quite-brown, not-quite-blonde, hair over her shoulders. Éponine moves over to Cosette's side and wraps one of her fingers around Cosette's curls. 

"I like your hair," Éponine says, frowning. 

Cosette waits for more, but Éponine just grins at her, something dangerous and just a little sad. Her fingers are cold in Cosette's hand, even with the heat from the beginning of summer. 

They walk out of Éponine's room, hand in hand, until the shouts from the kitchen startle both of them out of their comfortable silence. It's Éponine's mother arguing with her father, again. Éponine clenches her jaw, and Cosette tightens her hand in response. 

Éponine looks at her, and her face is carefully blank. 

Cosette smiles at her, sweet and full of innocence. "I like your jeans," she whispers.

Éponine's eyes don't lose their wariness, but the grin on her face is enough. 

  


* * *

  
They're seventeen when summer vacation starts. 

Éponine switches her jeans for shorts and her t-shirts for tank tops. She wears her hair out, loose and tumbling down her back. The air conditioner works at Montparnasse's house, and his parents work until late at night, so that's where Cosette and Éponine go, most of the time.

The three of them sit in Montparnasse's kitchen, Cosette, with her dress, up on the kitchen counters and Éponine next to her. They share a cigarette, and Cosette swears she still feels the heat from Éponine's lips when she takes her turn. Montparnasse watches them from the kitchen chairs, his eyes lingering on Éponine's legs, on the curve of her neck, and the swell of her breasts.

He grins when he catches Cosette watching him. 

  


* * *

  
Cosette wears her hair in a ponytail when they go swimming in her pool. 

Éponine doesn't.

The cold water calms the heat inside Cosette's stomach. But the ache within her chest stays, stronger when Éponine swims by her. Their hands brush underwater, and Cosette wraps a finger around one of Éponine's. They tread water, eyes locked, and Cosette swears friendship is Éponine's shaky exhale.

They dry their hair in Cosette's room, under her window, towels wrapped around their shoulders. Éponine changes into shorts, her legs out in front of her, and her arm pressed against Cosette's.

"Paint my nails," she says.

Cosette goes to her dresser and pulls out the box of nail polish, various shades of pink, purples, reds, and one blue, the color of Éponine's favorite sweater. 

They sit too close, knees brushing and feet touching, both breathing in damp air. Cosette looks up, just once, and catches Éponine looking at her. 

"You have nice eyes," Éponine says, grinning in that carefree way she has.

"Thank you," Cosette says.

Éponine doesn't do Cosette's nails, and they sit as Éponine's nails dry. They're used to comfortable silences, but Cosette wishes Éponine would say something. She wants something to distract her from the way she can't seem to breathe past the chlorine in Éponine's hair. Cosette sits and tries not to tremble, every nerve ending alive where they're pressed together. Her hands shake and Cosette has to sit on them just so that she doesn't give into the desire to fit her palms to Éponine's hips.

"I like how even the coat is," Éponine finally says, admiring her nails. "I can never do the right hand."

"I can," Cosette says on an exhale.

"Liar," Éponine says.

"I can," Cosette winks. "I'm ambidextrous."

"Talented with your hands," Éponine teases. "I like it."

Cosette throws her head back and laughs. She tips her head to the side, and she's sure that friends don't look at friends the way Éponine is looking at her. 

  


* * *

  
When people looked at Éponine, they often called her beautiful. 

When people looked at Cosette, they always had something nice to say about her clothes.

It happened many times, until Cosette finally made her peace with how she looked. She never looked at mirrors too long, preferring Éponine's comments on whether an outfit worked for her or not.

But the afternoon after they swim in her pool, Cosette sits at home, her hair dripping down her back, and seeping into her white and yellow sundress. She says hello to her father when he gets home, then goes up the stairs to her room. She turns on her lights so that she can see her light pink walls better. Her bed is in the center of the room, neatly made. The white dresser with the large mirror sits across from Cosette's bed, the surface empty except for the face scrub Cosette uses regularly.

She walks over to the desk chair in the corner, brings it to the dresser, and sits. For a moment, all Cosette sees is the deep blue of her eyes and her long eyelashes. She blinks twice. 

Her hair is darker when it's wet, almost brown. The color makes her look paler, but not in a bad way. Cosette's forehead is smooth, her cheekbones sharp and angled downwards. She touches her nose, pushes it up and it aligns perfectly with the rest of her features. Her freckles are charming. They warm her face and make her smile.

She's beautiful, she realizes with a jolt.

She stands, her dress spilling around her, settling into place. Cosette turns and when she can see herself again, she's still beautiful. She sits down hard, her heart thumping out of control.

She is seventeen, and this means everything. 

  


* * *

  
"Woah," Montparnasse says, when he sees Cosette, the next day.

Cosette brushes past him into the living room. Éponine turns when she hears the door, and there's no way Cosette imagines the widening of Éponine's eyes, or the way her eyes trail down over Cosette's bare legs.

"Wow," Éponine says, delighted. "You look hot."

Cosette blushes as she tugs her cardigan closer. She can feel the tips of her eyelashes, hard from the mascara, brushing the very top of her cheeks. She'd tried on all the makeup she'd gathered over birthdays, but had decided on foundation and mascara. Her eyes were her best features, after all.

"My little girl," Montparnasse says, throwing one arm around Cosette. "She's growing up."

Cosette lifts her chin and flashes Montparnasse a mischievous smile. 

He grins at her. "Marius is going to fucking die when he sees you," he says.

Éponine laughs, wild and free. "Oh shit," she says. "Let's invite him to the party." 

  


* * *

  
Montparnasse's hands are big and rough, and his fingers dig into Éponine's sides. He presses his mouth to her ear, his front to Éponine's back. 

Cosette watches from Montparnasse's living room couch, a red solo cup in her hand. She drinks as Montparnasse's hands dip lower down Éponine's stomach.

 _Why_ , Cosette wants to ask her, _why does she let Montparnasse touch her when he doesn't deserve her_?

"Let go," Éponine says, pushing Montparnasse away.

She yanks her hand away and drops down next to Cosette. Éponine turns her entire body towards Cosette, her back firmly to Montparnasse. Cosette can't help herself. She meets Montparnasse's eyes over Éponine's shoulder, makes sure he's looking when Cosette tugs at Éponine's hair.

"Weren't you going to dye it black?" Cosette asks.

"Only if you dye yours blonde," she says.

Éponine's face should be delicate, her beauty, soft. But she carries her beauty like a weapon, cutting and sharp. It's a warning to keep away, a mask that only falls when Cosette is near. 

"Your lipstick," Éponine whispers.

She reaches out to trace a finger along Cosette's lips, her nail dragging along the skin. All Cosette has to do is lean forward. All Éponine has to do is look up so that Cosette can be sure. 

"Marius is here," comes Montparnsse's voice.

He sinks down behind Éponine, but Cosette takes her time looking away from the expression on Éponine's face. She sits up, slow, her eyes on Montparnasse, daring him to ignore what he just saw. 

His smile is a dangerous thing, but Cosette has had Éponine's head in her lap, and there is nothing more dangerous than the heat beneath Cosette's skin. 

  


* * *

  
Montparnasse shoves her hard, and the side of Cosette's face hits the pavement. She can taste blood in her mouth, but the fury in her chest is stronger. She jumps up, ready to leap at him, when Éponine's fist connects with his face. She catches Montparnasse by surprise, and when she shoves him, he falls.

Cosette stands just as Éponine aims a kick at Montparnasse. She leaps at him, hits him as hard as she can, over and over. 

"Don't ever touch her again," Éponine says, each word punctuated by her fists on Montparnasse's face. "Don't you ever fucking dare touch _me_ again."

"Éponine," Cosette says.

Éponine turns. She's breathing hard through her nose, her knuckles bloody. When she sees Cosette standing there, she strides over, the anger still clear in her face. She grabs the back of Cosette's head and drags her forward until their lips meet.

Éponine is breathing too fast, but she pushes harder against Cosette's lips. They're both shaking where they're holding onto each other. They pull away and Cosette inhales, her body trembling as every ache she's ever felt crashes into the center of her chest. Éponine pulls her closer and kisses her again, short pecks as she tries to steady her breathing. Cosette exhales and her chest feels wide open, her hands burning where they touch Éponine.

They can't seem to get close enough to soothe the burning in their chests, not even when Cosette throws her arms around Éponine's neck and tugs her closer. They're burning from the inside out, every inhale like kindling to the flame. They can't stop.

They can't stop.

They can't stop. 

  


* * *

  
Cosette walks home along the quiet suburban streets. Her shoes make no sound on the pavement, and her skirt flows loose around her legs. There's a breeze and Cosette turns her head towards it, giving the late summer wind her last secret; Cosette is in love.

 

She exhales.

**Author's Note:**

> For the "coming out" square on my trope bingo card.


End file.
